


Anamnesis

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:12:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anamnesis: 1. the recollection or remembrance of the past; reminiscence. 2. the Medical history of a patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anamnesis

I slowly become aware of hands roaming over my armour, dipping into seams, teasing at sensors. It is good, so good. The revving of my engine is matched by the vibrations of the frame behind me as I lean back into the warm chassis, my optics offline as I hum in appreciation.

A hand curls around my helm, gently unhooking my mask. “Much better,” a voice croons as fingers smooth over my exposed face, “you shouldn’t hide away little medic.” The hands continue there ministrations as an electromagnetic field curls around mine, overlapping, teasing, caressing. Electricity dances around our frames, crackling over our armour as it arcs between us.

I moan as fingers brush over my interface ports. Retracting the panelling I groan as I feel a connection snap home, the rush of data and emotions intoxifying for a short moment. I am jarred suddenly as a wash of sadistic amusement is sent down the link. I frown as I try to move away, only to find I am restrained. The hands stroking along my chassis tighten, crushing sensitive wiring and slicing through energon and coolant lines, the scent of spilt fluids heavy in the air as I thrash in panic.

“Go ahead and scream little medic, there’s only me to hear you.” The mech whispers in my audios as my optics snap open.

I blink in the sudden light as the restraints move, familiar arms unwinding from around my chassis. “You ok Aid?” Hot Spot asks as he settles before me, concern covering his faceplates as he absently rubs at energon seeping from finger shaped indents in his arms.

“I, no, yes,... it was just a dream.” I reply as I feel my energon pump slowing back down to a regular rhythm. “Just a dream.” I repeat as I shake my head, trying to remove the last image I can remember from my processor: a pair of glowing scarlet optics in the shadows of a Decepticon prison cell and His voice; quiet, amused, satisfied, “Do you think you can heal yourself, little medic? I don’t think you can.”


End file.
